Murder at the Reinhart: Part 2: C.C. Dragon

February 17, 2015 Misc. 3

Murder-at-the-Reinhart-e1422572701185Yesterday you read part one of C. C. Dragon’s story. Here is part two and we get to see whodonit. Each author has been given leeway on who they accuse and how it’s solved. I am really enjoying the stories and I hope you are too! Remember we need you to vote on which story you liked the best. They are both winners to me..but I am a little partial to C. C. and Deanna since they are on my blog! 🙂

“Wow. Damn. Um. Since the welcome. I had to move my gear in here after the arrival. He was very specific about where he wanted to do what and it takes a bit of time to set it up and test it. No screw ups.” Sammie tensed. “And he didn’t want to pay for an assistant.”

“Did you know him well?” I asked.
Sammie shrugged. “I worked his fancy parties. All the events. It’s a resort so plenty of those. I know what I’m doing and my way around so I just do my thing.”
“Well, the police might be here soon asking questions. I just wanted to account for everyone. Make sure no one else had been hurt or killed.” I gave him a sympathetic smile.
“Sure, thanks!” He sat back from his work.
“You have a lot of audio and visual equipment,” I remarked.
“Sure do. Never know what I’ll need. He did theme events and retro things last year. There was a Downton Abbey party one year. So I’ve got a collection of radios and record players. Mostly form garage sales. My hi-tech stuff I lock up,” he said.
“Of course. Well, glad you’re okay.” I headed back toward the rooms. Sammie had over explained. Guilty behavior.
Still, I didn’t want to make Sammie nervous. Now he thought I was just concerned about everyone and there was no vibe that he’d run. On my way, I overheard the pack talking about a radio missing in a maid’s room. That could be a distraction or someone took it from there.
I entered Ivy’s room and she was whistling. “This guy had a lot of money. Makes you look almost middle class.”
“No wife, no kids.” I took a guess.
“No. One sister who died last year after a long ugly battle with cancer. She had a blog about it and left one son. That’s the next of kin to our dead guy. The will is locked up tighter than your attic full of demons. We won’t get anything fast enough for you.” Ivy frowned.
The sirens outside said the natives had grown restless and called in the cops.
“That didn’t take long.” Ivy laughed.
“Innocent people don’t want to be accused or held by police more than they absolutely have to. When you interrogate an innocent person, they get defensive and angry. Sleuthing isn’t a sport.” I hated feeling like I was in a competition. I’d had to do that crap already with a real murder.
“He offered a big prize and that’s money for your charity. You had the right motives.” Ivy looked out the window. “Lots of cops.”
“Well I guess my lead is probably no good. Who is the nephew? Have a name?” I asked.
“Sammie Richards. Does DJ thing and MC stuff.” Ivy flipped around the laptop and showed me his website.
I smiled. “I’m sure whatever fake crime they had planned for us was more elaborate. I like real crime, it’s more direct and logical. Not that I like murder.”
“Meaning?” Ivy asked.
“That’s my lead too. Who has easy access to radio equipment? Or access and knowledge of the layout to steal a maid’s radio and set her up? Who wasn’t around at all when we heard about the death? Who gave me that weird intro fawning over my financial assets? You’d think the uncle would’ve given him a better job.” Deanna shook her head. “We better head down or it’ll look like we’re hiding.”

After three hours of individual questioning, we were rounded up together. Everyone seemed to have an alibi or story where they were.
“It has to be a maid. A radio was missing,” said another sleuth.
“They have nothing to gain by losing their jobs,” Ivy replied.
I spoke up. “I have another theory. Our host had a nephew who was working here. I think he did it for the money.”
“You bitch,” Sammie yelled.
Two uniformed officers held him back.
“You’re his nephew? Nice of you to mention that.” The detective scribbled in his notebook.
“I don’t get a dime. I’m not in his will. I don’t inherit anything,” Sammie said.
I’d lost my motive. “Did he just treat you like any other servant then? You thought you deserved more?”
“Everyone hated him. I’d have gotten away with it. No one knew what I was.” Sammie shook his head as tears welled up in his eyes.
“Why did you do it?” I asked.
“He refused to pay for an experimental treatment. He made sure my mom was comfortable and had the best of it all. He paid for everything. Every medical bill but this new experimental treatment, he said I was crazy. It was her last chance. He had all this money and he wouldn’t even try.” Sammie fell to his knees.
“You didn’t have to be around him. Why work here if he made you that angry?” I started to have a better opinion of our late host if he took that good of care of his sister. If she was beyond hope, maybe the family wanted to be together rather than experimenting with last ditch efforts that could have ugly side effects. Not that that idea would comfort Sammie. The process of grief left some stuck in stages for years.
“I hadn’t worked in years. I took care of her. He hired a nurse but I wanted to make sure they treated her right. He paid my way and gave me a job here. Mom said I should be grateful. At the end she said I should take care of him but he only cared about how things looked. Not about me. He looked like the good brother. Wouldn’t even let me call him uncle here so no one gave me special treatment.” Sammie didn’t fight when the cops cuffed his hands.
“Why now? Why with a house full of sleuths to catch you? You could’ve done that any ordinary day or night and it might’ve passed for an accident.” I loved the why. It might seem crazy but my PhD was in psychology. What made people kill and do it so foolishly was part of why I did what I did.
“He was obsessed with sleuths. Murder. Mystery. Revenge and secrets. I took away his fun and made him the victim in front of everyone.” Sammie held his head up as the cops led him out.
“Sounds like a confession to me. I’ll need another chat with you, Dr. Oscar.” The detective nodded.
“Sure.” I sighed.
The other sleuths smiled and the staff looked relived. Ivy hugged me. While this might have been the place in the game for applause, this wasn’t a game.
“When can we go back to New Orleans? It’s too damn cold here,” Ivy said.
“When I talk to the detective, I’ll ask. Cold doesn’t bother me, I grew up in Chicago.” I looked out at the slopes and wondered what the will really said.
Who would get all of this? I’d inherited a big fortune and mansion from my grandmother but I worked cases for free. I lived off the interest of my assets. Not born rich, this sort of excess, and the insanity that went with it, always fascinated me. Deep down that’s why I’d accepted the invite—that and prize money I could use toward a charity I wanted to start. Now I just wanted to go home and be as normal as I could be.

Now go over to Berls @ Fantasy is More Fun and check out part two of Colleen Helme’s story and see how Shelby solves the crime and who she decided whodunit.

Go Deanna!! Who’s version of Mr. Reinhart’s death are you buying most?

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